by Jenny Kane
Toby was still by the till. Jack marched straight up to him. ‘Sorry. It’s a bad time, there’s stuff I have to … Anyway, I might come back here some time.’
Toby held his gaze, but said nothing.
Jack continued, more uncertain. ‘If that’s OK? Some time?’
Toby inclined his head a fraction.
‘Good. That’s, um, good.’ Jack felt strangely satisfied, but rather awkward, as he dashed towards the Underground, determined to carry out his newly-formulated plan of action.
Jack had promised Kit that he’d never meet her at Pickwicks. That was her space, especially since she’d started writing there. His presence, they had long ago agreed, would cause too many distractions. But this was an emergency, and anyway, Jack had already broken so many rules that he wasn’t going to worry about one more. It was only ten o’clock. If he hurried he could get back to Richmond by eleven and catch Kit before she packed up, and headed home to type up her morning’s labours.
He stared impatiently down the track at the strangely quiet Leicester Square station, willing the train to arrive. Now he was doing something positive Jack felt better; enlivened. What he was about to do might not help, but he had to at least try to sort things out.
As the Piccadilly Line tube arrived, Jack leapt into the grey and red carriage and did his best to relax. He could picture Kit hunched over her table, pen and notebook in front of her. He had given up trying to persuade her to carry a laptop around with her ages ago. One of the few things Jack had in common with Phil was the inability to understand Kit’s preference for a pen and paper; that she gained genuine satisfaction from leafing through a book filled with her own hand-written work.
A thought of Toby flitted through his head. Toby was certainly something to look forward to. Blonde and blue-eyed, that he’d registered at once, but now Jack had allowed himself time to think, he saw that Toby was also elegant, with light freckles and slender hands. Jack reflected, as he watched subterranean London rocket past the windows, that he and Toby were probably of about equal height, although the waiter was certainly slimmer. Feminine, there was no doubt about that. Toby had feminine written all over him. But not camp, for which Jack found he was grateful. Beyond the requirements of a drag act, Jack had never been a fan of camp, or of any sort of unnecessary affectations for that matter.
Crossing onto the District Line at Hammersmith, Jack stopped his thoughts in their tracks. Just because Toby had piqued his curiosity, it didn’t mean that the feeling was reciprocated. It was ridiculous to even consider it. Toby wouldn’t be interested in someone like him. He was a slut, a tart, a slapper, and he knew it. Reaching Richmond, Jack switched his contemplation away from his own sexual shortcomings towards Kit, and the conversation that awaited him. His palms began to sweat.
Walking past Pickwicks’ window to check that she was there, Jack saw it was very busy. Full of elderly women with shopping trolleys, ladies who lunched, and Kit. She was in the corner just as he’d imagined, head down, her right hand speedily moving back and forth across the table as she scribbled down her words. Jack was about to open the door when he saw Peggy approach her. He hung back, watching their exchange as Kit’s cup was refilled. Jack couldn’t help but smile. He wondered how much coffee she’d unconsciously drunk that morning, and not for the first time, marvelled how Kit’s body coped with such high levels of caffeine on a daily basis.
As he stood there, Jack realised that it had been a long time since he’d looked at Kit properly. Without him even noticing she’d turned from a girl into a woman, a mother, and a wife. Her hair was still red; no grey was peeping through. It was shorter than he remembered, though. Maybe she’d had a trim recently, or more likely it had been like that for ages and he just hadn’t noticed. Despite the coffee-and-cake lifestyle, she was still relatively slim, but childbirth had changed her shape, and the chest he used to admire was bigger than it had been. There she sat, quiet, motionless, and slightly scruffy. The last woman. Jack knew how much he owed her. It was high time he told her so.
Peggy had gone to tend her other customers, so the coast was clear. Jack wiped his tacky palms on his jeans, suddenly conscious of being in last night’s clothes. They smelt of stale smoke and beer. Jack ran a hand around his face; the stubble had crept beyond its usual fashionable shadow. Still, he hadn’t crossed London to back out because he was a touch less than hygienic. Pushing the door open, Jack approached her table. ‘Kit?’
She looked up. Her oval-shaped face went white as she saw who was standing before her.
‘May I sit down?’
She didn’t say anything, but nodded, gripping her pen tighter as he sat down on the spindle backed chair opposite her.
Peggy, who’d noticed Jack’s hesitant approach to the corner table, immediately recognised the urgent need for another cup of extra strong coffee. Quickly filling a mug, the waitress scooted forward, and placed it wordlessly in front of Jack before retreating to her counter, keeping her ears wide open, ready to witness the potential showdown.
Words tumbled out of Jack’s mouth as he plunged straight in, ‘I want to apologise. I didn’t not tell you about Amy. It just never came up. She never came up. Time moved on and stuff.’
Kit twiddled a biro between her fingers, looked Jack directly in the eye, and spoke with a calm voice that belied the turmoil within. ‘You have absolutely no idea why I’m so upset, have you?’
He hung his head, ‘No. Not really. Sorry.’
‘You didn’t make our tape, did you?’
Jack felt uneasy. ‘No, I’ve remembered some of what would have been on it though. I’ve remembered quite a lot actually. It’s been quite a fortnight.’
‘Hasn’t it.’ Kit picked up her drink, trying to resist her natural tendency to forgive instantly, determined not to tell him it was OK; that she was being silly, and that he should forget it. Because it wasn’t OK, not this time. Trouble was, she still didn’t really know why – but she was damned if she’d tell him that.
‘Peggy,’ Kit hailed her friend, ‘we need sugar over here. Fast.’
Without a word, Peggy headed for the cake display, placed two large slabs of carrot cake onto a plate, and returned to the frosty silence which hung over her corner table.
‘Thanks,’ they spoke in unison, both Kit and Jack thankful to have something to focus on as they sat opposite each other and, for the first time in their lives, didn’t know what on earth to say.
Nineteen
October 16th 2006
Hearing the shop bell, Rob abandoned checking his email, and turned the radio to a more customer friendly volume. ‘Hi Phil, haven’t seen you for ages. How’s tricks?’
‘No need to turn it down on my account,’ Phil gestured towards the shop’s sound system. ‘I’m fine, but work’s been mad recently, you?’
‘Yeah great, although work isn’t so much mad, as on a life support machine. You killing time before a viewing?’
Phil’s usually gentle voice rapidly lost its friendly tone, ‘No, I’m hunting down Jack.’
‘Jack?’ Rob instantly felt wary. This had to be about Kit.
Phil peered around the small empty space, ‘Is he here?’
Rob shook his head, ‘I doubt I’ll see him this side of tomorrow. He’s currently taking the phrase “burning the candle at both ends” as his code of honour.’
‘I see.’ Phil sounded blunt as Rob continued.
‘When Jack is here he’s either so damn tired and miserable that he merely grunts into the computer, or he’s so angry that he snaps at everything and everyone.’
‘A regular delight to be around then.’
‘Absolutely.’
Picking up a Christmas promotional leaflet from a pile next to the till, Phil began flicking through it, noticing the well-constructed mix of gardening books, children’s natural history sticker books, and easy-to-follow nature spotters guides, ‘You’ve got some nice stuff here.’
Rob smiled. He’d worked hard on getting th
e balance of that pamphlet right. ‘Thanks. Hopefully other people will think so, like the odd paying customer.’
Phil looked about him, ‘Have you ever considered expanding the range a bit further, you know, cuddly toy robins and coal tits next to the British Birds section, model hedgehogs by the Natural History shelves?’
‘We’ve considered doing that sort of thing in the past, but it’s a question of finding the room.’ Rob gestured around the shop-floor, ‘Space is a bit of a premium here.’
‘True. The joys of being your own boss I guess.’ Phil considered saying something else about the shop, but drew himself back to the matter in hand. ‘Kit’s in a bad way. I don’t think she’s writing.’
‘Ah,’ Rob nodded, ‘I wondered how she was. I was going to call her, but I took the cowardly option and decided to keep out of it as much as I could.’
‘Very wise,’ Phil inclined his head towards his friend, ‘Jack hasn’t said anything then?’
‘Beyond that he’d, and I quote, “cocked up with Kit,” he hasn’t said a thing. I’ve just heard the occasional self-pitying murmurs. All I know for sure is that ever since he sent that tape back to his ex-girlfriend, all hell’s broken loose.’
‘Jack has another female ex!’ Phil was stunned.
‘He has a fair collection of them actually.’ Rob sighed, realising he was going to have to tell the whole story all over again. ‘I think we should have coffee.’
‘Tea, if that’s all right. Had I better sit down for this?’ Phil pulled one of the counter’s stalls out far enough to accommodate his long legs.
‘Quite possibly,’ Rob left Phil studying a selection of books waiting to be parcelled up and posted; the first successes from Jack’s website.
Leaning against the patchily painted magnolia wall, Rob shook his head as he waited for the kettle to boil. How could one man, one gay man for God’s sake, have this much disruptive influence over two otherwise perfectly sensible women?
Returning to the shop floor, Rob presented Phil with his tea. ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’
*……*……*
‘So, if I follow you correctly, Kit is upset because she didn’t know about this particular ex?’ Half an hour later Phil was still struggling to work it out.
Less than convinced, Rob replied, ‘I think so.’
‘Why? We all have exes.’
‘True, but I think it was a shock, you know, that he loved one particular woman, rather than just bonking them in general.’
‘As opposed to a man you mean?’
‘I think that’s it.’ Rob shrugged ‘Hell, I don’t know, there was something about music too.’
Phil ran a hand through his short black hair, ruffling it out of its usual neat office style into tuffs and spikes. ‘Music? The tape you mentioned?’
‘Yes.’
Phil finished his tea, and put the mug on the counter. ‘Well, this has all the common sense of a Whitehall farce. Kit’s a married woman now, for Christ’s sake. Married to me! I’ll make her a damn tape if that’s all this is about.’
Rob began to feel guilty for saying anything, ‘Sorry Phil, I really didn’t mean to make trouble. I …’
‘It’s OK Rob, I’m not cross with you, or Kit really, but it’s so petty. So, so, so damn Jack!’’
Rob spoke more softly, hoping to calm Phil down a bit, ‘I think they know that too. They just don’t know what to do about it.’
Twenty
October 16th 2006
‘Amy doesn’t know about you either.’ Jack had tried small talk, but it hadn’t worked, so he dived back into the fray between mouthfuls of cake.
Kit sounded exhausted, ‘What does she know?’
‘Very little.’ Jack tried to take her hand, but she moved it out of reach, ‘Kit,’ he sounded almost pleading now, ‘you did know I had girlfriends at university.’
‘I did, but until our last discussion, I was under the impression they were of the snog-’em, shag-’em, leave-’em variety. That for you, loving a woman was totally out of the question. Period.’
‘That’s mostly true.’ Now it was Jack’s turn to sound tired.
‘But not her.’
‘No, not Amy, but so what?’ Jack was getting fed up with this now. He wasn’t used to having to justify his actions. ‘You must have been in love with someone other than Phil surely, otherwise how did you know that you loved him?’
Kit swallowed. The cake she’d eaten suddenly transmogrified to lead in her stomach. In ten years she’d never given herself away. The truth was now dangerously near exposure; it could change everything. She’d probably freak Jack out so much she’d never see him again, and as the past two weeks had shown her, that as a permanent prospect, was something she didn’t like at all. She daren’t even contemplate how Phil would react if he found out she’d felt. So she simply said, ‘I’d have said.’
Jack watched Kit, his growing temper dying as quickly as it had risen as realisation dawned. He knew he’d been stupid, now it seemed he’d been blind as well. Yet she hadn’t said it. Why not? Choosing his words carefully he said, ‘I don’t want a life without you in it.’
Kit acknowledged his words with an inclination of her head, but ignored the obvious response, saying instead, ‘Have you seen Amy yet, since she’s come south I mean?’
Jack took the change of tack gratefully, ‘No. I don’t know where she’s living.’
‘I do.’
‘What?’ Jack abruptly lent forward again, ‘How on earth do you know that? Rob hasn’t told you has he?’
‘Rob knows?’ Kit frowned as she spoke.
‘Yes, but he’s not saying. Apparently she’ll find me when she’s ready. Very bloody mysterious.’
Good for her, Kit experienced an unexpected second of respect for her unknown protagonist. ‘Phil knows too. Although he has no idea he knows of course.’
‘Phil? How on earth…?’
‘She’s renting a room through Home Hunters.’
‘Small world.’ Jack let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.
‘Isn’t it.’
Letting silence fill the gap between them for a moment, Jack rubbed the tension from his forehead before saying, ‘You and Amy have quite a lot in common.’
Kit didn’t want to hear it, and certainly wasn’t sure if she liked that fact or not, as the tone of her voice clearly indicated. A nuance completely lost on Jack. ‘Really.’
‘Sure,’ Jack attempted to move closer to her, but Kit lent back. ‘You both fidget when you’re nervous or uncertain about something. You’re both kind and generous. And you’re both far too good for me. You both let me get away with murder.’
Kit grunted a begrudging response, ‘That bit sounds right anyway.’
Jack was warming to his theme; the more he thought about it, the more similarities there were. ‘You like the same types of music, neither of you care much about clothes beyond comfort, and despite your angelic faces, you’re both dirty beggars in the bedroom.’
Kit stared at him in disbelief, ‘A thought too far Jack. Much too far.’ Kit scowled, ‘At least now I know why you were attracted to me; I was just like her.’
Jack’s mouth dropped open. He’d walked straight into that one. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I liked you for you, but you’re right, I went too far with the comparisons. I was trying to help. Sorry.’ Jack began to shred the napkin he’d absentmindedly been playing with into haphazard strips.
Kit watched him carefully, unable to prevent a tiny smile hitting the corner of her lips, ‘Amy and I aren’t the only ones who fidget when we’re uncertain then.’
‘Well, I have a fair bit to be uncertain about right now.’
Peggy finished serving the group of pensioners, who had come into Pickwicks for their regular pots of tea and toasted teacakes, as fast as possible, and scooted back to within earshot of Kit and Jack. This was better than a soap opera! To think she’d thought that Kit, despite all literary evidence to
the contrary, was a goody-two-shoes in the men department. She’d known Kit and Jack were good friends, and that Jack was gay. Peggy had always joked that they were like the characters from the nineties sitcom, Will and Grace, without realising how close to the truth she was.
Making a play of wiping the counter, Peggy felt troubled as she listened. Amy? It had to be the same girl that waited here. Kit had been so self-involved recently that she’d barely noticed the new waitress, and why would she? Peggy always served Kit and the other regulars herself, leaving the passing-trade clients to Amy.
Thanking whichever God was on patrol that morning that it was Amy’s day off, Peggy picked up some freshly brewed coffee, headed into the currently-hushed war zone, and topped up their mugs.
Taking a sip of her fresh drink, Kit savoured the hot bitter liquid as it slid down her throat. ‘So, why did you let us go on for so long?’
‘Why did you stay with me once you knew the truth?’ Jack countered.
‘I asked first.’
‘Don’t be childish.’
Kit slammed her cup into its saucer, ‘Just answer the sodding question, Jack.’
‘Poison.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Kit’s eyes rolled menacingly in their sockets, in a blatant warning to Jack that he should explain himself very, very carefully.
‘The song, Alice Cooper, you know, “Poison”,’ Jack explained. ‘Everything about you had me caught up, like … well, like “Poison”‘
‘Am I to be flattered or supremely insulted? Anyway, those words make no sense in this context.’
‘Look. I’m trying to tell you, I was addicted if you like.’ Jack leaned forward desperately trying to work out how to make her understand.
‘Addicted! Oh great, first I’m poison, now I’m fucking heroin.’ He’d never seen Kit so cross or offended.